


Dinner's Served

by PhenixFleur



Series: Predation [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Dark, Deerper, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hunter AU, Hunter Bill, Physical Abuse, Poor Dipper, Predator-Prey Relationships, Pretty graphic violence, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An escape attempt doesn't go the way Dipper planned at all. (Follows Encouragement.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner's Served

**Author's Note:**

> Shit continues to go downhill for poor Deerper at an exponential rate. Sorry, kiddo.

The second his hoof clinked against the metal spring Dipper knew he’d royally fucked up. A metallic  _clink_  was not a natural noise seamlessly blended into the ambient sounds of the woods at early evening. It was a noise he now associated with  _hunters_ , one in particular that made his skin crawl whenever he spoke and whose proximity sent his nerves into overdrive; a hunter whose grip he’d finally managed to wriggle out of. He was now literally running for his life; he knew the hunter would be hot on his trail the moment he realized the cage in the basement was empty.

It was also a sound associated with  _traps_.

The clink was immediately followed by the sound of the trap snapping shut on his ankle. The barbs sank into his flesh, sending a wave of  _pain_  radiating throughout his entire left hind leg and causing him to lose his balance and collapse onto the forest floor with a sharp cry of agony. “Shit!”

The fall left him winded, torn between gasping for breath and gritting his teeth at the stabbing sensation in his ankle. He struggled to turn to get a good look at the trap while holding his leg perfectly still; even the slightest movement made the barbs embedded in it dig in further. He reached for a nearby branch, managing to lift himself into an awkward sitting position. The sight of his ankle was pretty gruesome, and he took a few deep breaths to keep the panic at bay. The chain attached to the trap was wrapped around a tree and fixed in place with a lock; the entire setup had been covered in now dried mud, effectively rendering it invisible against the surrounding canvas of wood and foliage.

Save for managing to pry it open, he didn’t see any way around simply waiting for assistance of some kind. He wasn’t bold enough to take a knife to himself, and even if he was it wasn’t as if he actually had one.

The cervitaur racked his brain for a solution, so absorbed in his current predicament that he momentarily forgot that the trap wasn’t the only issue looming over his head - until it decided to reassert itself.

“Going somewhere?”

Dipper froze; his ears slicked back instinctively and his body began to tremble of its own accord. The pain in his ankle dimmed in comparison to the fear that rose within him at the sound of  _that_  voice.

“I wish you’d told me you were going for a walk.” The surrounding foliage rustled as the hunter peeled himself away from the shadows. His rifle was slung over his shoulder, the knife that Dipper was uncomfortably well-acquainted with hung at his waist, and the cheerful smile on the man’s face was anything but reassuring. He reached for the knife, sliding it out of its leather sheath and idly inspected the blade.  “Just because I’m a psychopath doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty of the woods at twilight.” The cheerful smile twisted into something menacing that made the cervitaur’s blood run cold. “That’s when we monsters come out to play.”

In that moment, Dipper realized that he’d rather have severed his hoof than deal with what was to come. He averted his gaze, staring at the soil beneath him and wishing he could sink into it, far away from this spectre of his nightmares.

The hunter approached him with the smooth steps of a predator, letting out a low whistle at the sight of the trap clamped over his ankle. “Yeesh! I can’t believe some jerk would leave these lying around. That looks like it really hurts.” Dipper cringed, offering up a silent prayer that the man would forego testing that theory. He was sorely mistaken.

“Does it?” The hunter gave the chain a sharp tug; every single nerve in Dipper’s injured leg lit up at once, washing away every thought in his head save for the unending mantra of  _pain pain pain._  He’d managed to hold in a scream before, but this time he let loose. “Those are pretty deep in there.” Another sharp tug, this one upward; it hurt worse than the other and drew another agonized shriek from the shuddering cervitaur. Nothing had ever hurt this badly _._  "Any deeper and we’ll need to rename you something more fitting for a three-legged deer. Have you ever seen a three-legged deer?“

Dipper’s eyes widened, watching the hunter placing a foot atop the trap, and he immediately opened his mouth to protest. "No…please don’t-”

The plea ended in another strained shriek; time seemed to slow to a pitiful crawl as the hunter applied just enough pressure to send the spikes crunching through bone; just enough to cause a fracture - but Dipper screamed anyway. He couldn’t feel the area below his ankle. It felt as if his hoof had vanished altogether but the white hot yawning hole of pain that was his ankle itself made up for it. He could hear himself screaming; the sound seemed as if it were coming from elsewhere.

The hunter leered down at him, eye glittering in the growing darkness. “Remember what I told you about running away?”

Dipper didn’t respond.

The hunter knelt beside him, running a hand along his jaw lovingly. “Maybe you’ll learn your lesson this time, pet.”

The sobbing cervitaur shook his head frantically, speaking in a shuddering gasps that indicated that he was working quite hard to stay conscious. “I’m not your pet. I’m not your fucking pet!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” the hunter sneered, flicking the golden tag at the center of the leather band enclosed around the cervitaur’s neck. The triangular tag was featureless, save for a strange symbol engraved into the underside. “That’s not what this says. Or should I write my name somewhere else?”

Dipper paled at the implication, eyes straying to the knife at the hunter’s side. Before he could open his mouth to protest the hunter was upon him,  seizing the collar and forcing his head against the ground with a knee weighting him down. A finger jabbed into his ribs. “Right about here looks good! Hey kid, want a tattoo?”

Dipper could only manage a soft whimper. His leg was on fire, to the point where he felt absolutely nauseous, and it was growing increasingly hard to concentrate. He still flinched at the sensation of the blade sliding along his flank, threatening to slip beneath his coat. “It’s like writing your name on a favorite toy,” the hunter crooned, stroking one of his ears. “Just in case it gets lost.”

The cervitaur braced himself for what was to come (although there really was no way to prepare oneself for being cut open, no matter how many times it happened). However, as the hunter prepared to make the first cut he was interrupted by the chilling sound of a lone howl slicing through the evening air.

_Oh no_.

The hunter’s eyes lit up. “Interesting! You hear that, kid? Those are wolves. They come out this late looking for easy prey.” The man tapped at his cheek, as if pondering the situation. “Oh wait! That’s what you are right now, isn’t it?”

“No. No no no.” Dipper’s head cleared immediately, and the pain in his hind leg was shifted to the backburner in lieu of this new threat.

The hunter’s expression shifted to a wicked grin. “You know, I think I’m going to leave you here, kid. Where the wolves can find you.”

“No!” Dipper cried, reaching out for the hunter’s arm only to be shoved off, roughly. “I won’t run away again.”

“Too late! In fact, I’m going to stick around to watch.”

The man made his way over to a nearby rock and settled down, watching the panicking cervitaur hyperventilate, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t want to die.”

The hunter shrugged. “Duh. No one really  _wants_  to die, kiddo. But it happens, y'know?”

“I’m sorry I ran away. Please!” His pleas went unheeded, even as the sound of the wolves (because he could sense that there was more than one, summoned by the first baleful howl) drew nearer, setting every single nerve in his body alight once again with the urge to  _run, run Dipper, run away_. His broken hind leg and the trap still buried in his flesh precluded that notion - that escape was only a leap and a bound away. He couldn’t run. Not this time.

The hunter stood up again, looming over him with a crazed look in his eye. “They’re getting closer. They can smell your blood.”

Dipper recoiled in horror as the man seized the collar around his neck once more. "They’re going to eat you  _alive_. That’s what wolves do. They tear their prey open and start eating right then and there. They’re going to rip you apart, piece by piece, and  _no one_  will hear you screaming for them to stop. No one but me, and I’m not rude enough to interrupt someone at dinner time.”

Dipper simply stared at him, overcome with despair. No amount of begging or pleading would save him this time. At least his other run-ins with death had been considerably less terrifying; a bullet to the brain was quick, relatively painless if done right; being skinned wouldn’t be a walk in the park but it sounded better than being eaten alive by wolves. Although either way, he got the short end of the stick, so what did it matter?

The collective symphony of the woods ceased altogether, from the croaking of small frogs to the reedy whine of the crickets. Even the air seemed close; the world was holding its breath in anticipation of a show in which he was the unwilling, violently reluctant star.

"Alright, kid,” The hunter released his hold on the collar, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Dinner is served.”

Padded feet, oh so many of them, snarling as they rushed the clearing, bringing with them the sickening smell of caked blood and the leavings of slaughtered animals and death. 

He couldn’t run; he couldn’t even hobble on his broken leg, still enclosed in the jaws of the bear trap. 

It was over, and he’d never see his family again. 

Dipper bit his lip, resolving to hold it in; he wasn’t going to give that bastard the pleasure of hearing him scream when the wolves’ teeth scored his hide, no matter how much it hurt (and it was going to hurt); he lowered his head at the sight of the first gray muzzle emerging from the bushes. 

A thunderclap sounded above his head, rattling his bones and threatening to shake him apart, followed by a sharp yelp that could only be an expression of surprise. 

Dipper folded in on himself. The world appeared to be ending, which was fine by him; his world had ended the day he made eye contact with the one-eyed monster standing before him, laughing the kind of laugh that suggested that he really was completely insane. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the hunter’s laugh or the snarling of the wolves as they met their fate one by one, shrieking, then silence. 

He guessed even wolves didn’t want to die. 

He remained curled into a shivering ball of anxiety, struggling to push past the panic attack now threatening to steal the remaining breath from his lungs, even after the sound of gunshots ceased. So did the sound of the wolves. Perfect silence, until the hunter spoke once more; this time there was no levity in his tone. 

“I guess you didn’t hear me the first time.” Hands seizing his collar, hauling him up off the ground and making his broken ankle send another wave of pain coursing up the length of his leg. Dipper kept his eyes shut. “If you ever even consider running away again I’ll break the rest of your legs myself, one by one. Do you understand me? Answer me, brat.”

“…yes.” The reply was faint; he was so very tired. 

“Good. Stand up.”

His eyes shot open, and the cervitaur looked up at his captor with disbelief. “I can’t.”

The hunter shrugged again. “You came out here on your own, you can walk back.  _Stand up._ ”

Dipper shook his head. “I…I can’t. I…” He hung his head once more, swallowing the sense of shame wrapped itself around his heart. “Help me. Please.”  
  
“You see?” The hunter said, smugly. “You need me to keep you safe from your own stupid decisions.”

Dipper expected him to disable the trap and free his leg right then and there; instead the hunter merely unclipped one of the chain links. “Come on, kid.” He shuddered as the hunter lifted him into his arms, strangely gentle now that he'd acquiesced. “We’ll get this off back at home.”

_Home_.

Maybe it was time to accept that this  _was_  home. This was his life, clad in a collar and at the mercy of a raving psychopath. These were the cards he’d been dealt, and now there was only a single goal to strive for: survival. And if that meant reconciliation…then that’s what he’d do. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, struggling to quell the disgust that rose in the back of his throat as he laid his head against the hunter’s chest. 

“It’s okay.” The hunter kicked a wolf carcass aside, holding him close possessively. “I forgive you. You  _are_ just a dumb animal." 

"But I’ll take care of you.”


End file.
